Marble Gate
by Battle Bruva Volks
Summary: She had failed. She was denied her destiny. Now all that is left for Pyrrha is to become apart of the Eternal Storm. In Aqshy, tensions are at the boiling point. The Tempest Lords battle both the field of battle but in the senates and courts of the local city-states. But within the shadows, Agents of the Ruinous Powers play their own game.
1. Chapter 1

She'd failed.

Despite her greatest efforts, she could not beat her. It enraged her, too no end. She had failed Ozpin, failed Beacon, Vale, Remnant, Jaune... Everything she'd been through, had all been for nothing. Pyrrha could only glare at her foe, who stood only a few feet away. The young champion had nothing left in her; aura was gone, and an arrow pierced her ankle, leaving her painfully and frustratingly immobile.

Anger, no, rage coursed through her. Pyrrha had never felt such fury in her life. It was something foreign to her. She'd always been an even tempered young woman throughout her life. It was in this very moment that she truly felt what true, pure rage was like. She gritted her teeth and attempted to stand one last time, only to fall back on a knee, she hearing the bones in her ankle crack and pop, the pain that accompanied it was horrid. She looked up to her enemy, the woman in red too see a woman revealing silently in victory.

She did not truly emote, whomever she was, all she did was stand there, as if this was her domain. The thief that stole the Fall Maiden's power had won, and now seemed to take a moment to behold her victory. The woman in red didn't seem to gloat, though it seemed she sneered at her with her sly grin.

"Do you..." Pyrrha painfully begun to spoke, rage giving her strength to speak, "Believe... In destiny."

There was a pause in the woman's celebration. Something... Came over her. The grin that occupied her face faded away. The grip on her bow visibly tightened, shaking in her hand. Pyrrha wondered if the question had somehow struck a nerve, for it seemed anger had crept it's way into the woman in red's composure. Then Pyrrha saw something else in the woman's eyes; they had begun to water ever so slightly,

The woman in red brought her bow to bear, a glass arrow forming in her hand. She pulled the bowstring back, Pyrrha could only watch as she knocked the arrow on the string. The woman's eyes squinted at the young champion, as if they were looking for something besides a place to send the projectile.

"Yes." The woman in red said solemnly.

She pulled the bow string back, and in but a thought, the arrow sailed fatefully through the cinder and fume choked air. Pyrrha felt the glass arrow pierce her sternum and into her heart which struggled to beat on. The young champion reached for it, gasping both for it and a last breath. Her attention was no longer on the woman in red, it was someone else, a witness. Ruby Rose, crouched low on the edge of the tower, watched as Pyrrha watched her life dance by.

Playing 'huntsmen' with her mom, they fought invisible grimm that whole afternoon.

Her first tournament; she only came in second, but wasn't deterred.

Her first day at Sanctum; she was nervous, but quickly gained a close chamber of friends.

Her fifteenth birthday party; it was when her parents gifted her famous spear and shield, and armor too match.

Then there was Beacon:

She remembered first seeing Jaune... it was the first time a boy ever... Drew her in.

Bumping into him in the locker room.

Joining his team.

Her time with team JNPR/

Ren's world famous pancakes... That he burned the first batch.

Nora insisting on doing Pyrrha's nails... They had to get new bed sheets... For everyone.

Jaune's training...

The prom...

Vytal...

Her first... Kiss...

"I'm sorry... Jaune..."

Then she fell into a deep sleep...

She then woke with a start in what looked like a dark parody of Beacon. Ruined by what looked to by both time and war, by grimm. It felt was what came to mind Pyrrha. She walked down the nostalgic hall for a moment before getting the feeling that she was not alone. Something else was here.  
It felt eyes upon her, watching her every move. It felt powerful. Like an alpha grimm, a feeling that she knew well. She called out, "Hello!" No answer, "Is anyone here..." She felt a tear running down her cheek, "Jaune..."

"Rejoice, child! Your cries have been heard. There is no need for tears or regrets. For you have entered into Shyish and the eternal embrace of the Ur-Death. You shall be one with... Nagash!" A skeletal hand emerged from the endless gloom. Energy, like but unlike Aura, flowed like steam around the unnatural, but necessary, being. "There is no need for fear. For soon, you shall enter the fullness of Nagash. Pyrrha Nikos, of the Realm of Remnant, I have taken measure of your soul. It is strong. It will serve the will of Nagash, as all things must."

She feel back, reaching for weapons that did not exist, logically, she reached for anything metal, but found her powers to fail her. She was left standing before the disembodied arm which begun to reveal more and more of a skeletal being. "Who are you?!" She demanded, "Are- are you one of Salem's agents?!"

"As I said, child. I am the Ur-Death. I am that which causes the courage of mortals to fail. I am Nagash. Where crops wither, beauty fades, and breath draws faint, I am there. All come to Nagash and in time, all serve before the Basalt Throne of Shyish." The boastful voice transcended time or distance. The presence echoed through Pyrrha's very existence. "I am in an indulgent mood, lonely soul. I shall not strip all that you were and all that remains from you for DARING to suggest that Nagash serves. Nagash rules. Where Nagash commands, all obey. Salem... I know of this being. She cowers at the knowledge that I lurk behind every breath. I awaited her soul once in Shyish. She avoided my grasp and lingers near her black pits. I had such grand designs. The title of Mortarch of Grief was to be hers, but now... Nagash in his magnanimity extends this offer... to you..."

"... What do you offer me, exactly then?" Pyrrha felt as if she had to ask, she had no other recourse.

"Eternity. Eternity of glory as the servant of Nagash. You died with such grief and regret that all heard. The false gods that seek equality with Nagash reached for you, but I, in my mercy, saved you from the torments and emptiness of their hollow and capricious desires. In return, you shall serve Nagash with gladness, for at the end when all realms bathe in the light of my black sun, you will be a treasured instrument that brought about the desolation of the Mortal Realms. Immorality and unity in Nagash shall be your reward."

Pyrrha thought on that. Immortality. Life eternal. It was somewhat tempting, losing her life made her really consider the value of her own life. Though as Pyrrha thought on it, she felt a desire for something else, something she never thought she'd feel, "I want vengeance. " She finally said it. The usually kind natured warrior almost felt guilty saying it, but it was true, "MY destiny was to be a Maiden, and that thief, Cinder, took it. She took everything from me!" Pyrrha thought of Jaune. Of how much pain he was going through, of Nora, Ren, how they were taking it, how all of her family friends where grieving, "I want to kill her. Please. If I become your... Your Mortarch, you will give me her."

"What is stolen shall be reclaimed! Nagash knows the fury born of having what is yours by right stolen! The dead belong to Nagash as this Maiden's power belonged to you. Embrace the truth of Nagash as your own truth. Command my Nightgaunt Legions and reclaim what is yours... and what is mine. Reap a tally of my enemies for they are yours. Through Nagash, you shall learn to wield your grief as naturally as you wielded your Spear and Semblance. Nagash shall mold you into what Cinder Fall fears beyond all things. The will of Nagash is that she wither. That all Remnant witnesses the terrible splendor of Nagash. The Twin Gods of your former realm are but pale shadows of Nagash. For I... I am the Ur-Fear, I am the Ur-Death, I am the end and the beginning. Accept Nagash with all that you are and I will transform your grief from the affliction that cripples you into the razor edge of my retribution. Our enemies shall know the grief born of standing against Nagash... and you..."

There was a sudden rumble of thunder, a Pyrrha begun to feel a static charge forming around her. The charge grew stronger and the thunder heralded a voice, "Oh hoho, my Nagash, it seems your proposals have gotten much better since we last met!"

"Interloper! You dare intrude in my realm! The thief dares speak from the shadows."

Pyrrha then felt herself being lifted upwards, now just confused, "Does it not rain in Shyish? Is there not lighting and thunder in this realm? If not, how do I have power here?" The man's voice was booming and joyous, it reminded Pyrrha a bit of Professor Port

"SIGMAR. I shall cast you down for this continued betrayal. See, Pyrrha, see what the world does. I offered you a choice, but once again you shall be robbed of your will!"

A boom of laughter punctuated with lighting and thunder drowned out that being named Nagash, "You offer her a never ending life of grief. A life serving death, serving a master who views her but a tool. You are more than that, young Nikos."

The skeletal form came into a full, horrifying whole, it's fleshless arm now extending to point a boney didget at the young huntress.

"This is not over. Nagash shall have his due. This denial is but temporary. You shall be mine, Pyrrha Nikos! All shall be Nagash!"


	2. Chapter 2: New Body, New Life

**AN: Hey so, I forgot about this story, too be blunt. This is mainly due to real life stuff hitting me and the fact that I had no real plan for this. The first chapter, which will remain, was an RP me and a friend did that I thought was cool, and I wanted to turn it into a story. The problem then came, "Well, what the hell is the story going to be about?" And I couldn't figure that out.**

 **I read more into Age of Sigmar and got hooked with Plague Garden and now reading through Soul Wars. So I decided to strike while the iron is hot. Extra long chapter for those who've been waiting. Enjoy! Review and Follow! Message me if you wanna chat. Door's always open!**

 **New Form, New Purpose**

 _Elsewhere..._

 _Were.. Where am I_?

 _I could not think straight. Emotions were still running high. After meeting the gods, I was still beside myself. They were real. Really real. Nagash, Sigmar. Their names weren't what I imagined the God of Light and God of Dark to be, but that's what they seemed to be._

 _Suddenly... I am back at Beacon? The shattered moon loomed overhead, and the CCT tower... I see her. My blood boils over. It's Cinder. Unmistably. Except now I can see more. I can hear more, Smell more even._

 _A horde of_ grimm _appear before me, and I do not hesitate. Hurtling myself forward, warblade in one hand, shield guarding the other, I plunge myself into the crowd of abyssal beasts. It's when I notice that I am no longer in my old combat outfit. The one I made before arriving at Beacon._

 _Now my form is covered in... Sigmarite... How do I know that? That word is foreign, yet familiar. Such thoughts are buried as my warblade bites into the first beowulf. I forget my old arms. Their names seemingly lost to me as I plunge deeper into the horde of_ grimm _..._

 _Azyr, Sigmarabulum, Chamber of The Broken World_

Lord-Arcanum Julius Starseeker, of the Tempest Lords, stood vigilant at the forge.

So far this day had been productive. Ten souls had emerged from the Anvil. None appeared to be any worse for ware. One, of which, of the Astral Templars, stepped off the Anvil of his own accord, in seemingly perfect condition.

The celestors songs were especially sweet this day, for this many forged, and without any incident, was welcomed. The Stormcast turned for a moment to see his comrade, Marren Windstrike, of the Astral Templars, step forward, his purple armor shining in the light of Mallus.

"A good day today." He was far more jovial than usual and for a good reason. To see one of his brothers step from the forge so quickly seemed to put Marren in a good mood.

"So far," Julius reminded his brother. "Remember, we're not done till the Anvil is."

"Right, right, but still, so far, so good." Marren seemed optimistic, "The past ten reforges have been swift, and without too much pain. Only one seemed off put."

Julius nodded in agreement, "Aye, that is true. But remain a cynic till the day is done. Prepare for the worse."

Another soul entered onto the anvil. This one was strange. Julis, like other lord-arcanum's, could see the magic of the realm that soul hailed from, they smelling of it at the very least, had they been a mage in their mortal life, they would be surrounded by it. This one was almost absent of it. And yet, it seemed to have something about it. Magic not of any of the realms, or at least not in any form he'd seen.

"You see it?" Julius asked Marren.

"Aye," Marren said flatly as he took a step back towards his post.

"Exactly. Be on your guard."

Then, it began.

The sound of hammers thundered through the chamber as the soul was smashed and broken. It's form weathered away by the Anvil, broken down to its barest parts. It howled and screamed, the aura of strange magic flickered and buckled underneath the blows of the anvil, until it too broke.

Shattered into millions of fragments the soul was left formless on the anvil until the hammering begun once more. The soul took on more of a base form. Starting with the indications of feet, then legs began to show; finally, the torso was formed, informing Julius that the Stormcast on the anvil was a woman. Lungs and other internal organs built as well as the chest was finished, the arms came into being, and the red, topped with crimson hair was formed.

Then she began to scream. Julius did not know her name, but the lord-arcanum knew that she was too be one of the Tempest Lords. He instinctively knew it, so was Sigmar's Will. She writhed on the ground screaming. Her chest swelled as the Stormcast took her first breaths, which where turned into screams.

"Jaune! Jaune! Please! It hurts!"

Then the celestors began to sing to her, calming the storm that raged in their newly forged sister. Her pained twitching started to slow as a celestor of the Tempest Lords stepped forward. Bruno was one of Julius' bodyguards and a trusted aide. He was also skilled in dealing with the newly forged.

"It's alright," He spoke softly, "You're safe now."

The woman's green eyes looked unfocused, unused to the blessed eyesight the forge granted her, "Jaune... Jaune is that you." She felt around, finding Bruno's armored hand.

"No. It's is I, Bruno Dawnguard, your brother."

She seemed to test the name, "Bruno... Bruno..."

"It will become easier to say in time," He said lifting the newly forged to her feet, "Your name, what is it?"

She stood, wobbly, "I am... Pyrrha. Pyrrha Nikos." She tried to take a step forward but her form was alien to her, so she stumbled, Bruno catching her, "Sorry..."

"Nothing to be forgiven. Come," Bruno wrapped his arm around her and led her from the forge. Bella, another celestor, offered the newly forged Pyrrha a robe, which she gladly accepted. Julius still watched her with suspicion. Something was off about Pyrrha. Still, she was his new sister, and she would need to be hooned into a new weapon.

Pyrrha awoke in pain.

A dull throbbing pain persisted from her forehead to her toes. It was an exquisitely strange pain one wholly new and already despised by the huntress.

Her eyes opened to see a large, marble celling over her. Above her, a censer burnt sweet smelling incense above her. The scent gave her a calm sense, she thought she'd be lulled back to sleep by it, had not a voice call to her.

"Sister?" It was a rumbling voice, low and gravelly, "You wake?"

Pyrrha groaned as she tried and leaned upon her bed of soft velvety pillows. The room filled with similar beds, most were empty, save for a handful. Muscly, great forms slept in them, or perhaps they experienced the same pain she did.

Across from her, back against the wall his bed faced, sat a large, black-haired man. An anvil tattoo dominated the center of his chest. His eyes looked at her, his gaze was curious.

"I do not know you. What host do you hail from?" He asked Pyrrha.

She thought for a moment, but an answer did come from her lips, "The Tempest Lords."

His expression nodded in realization, "Ah. Newly forged. Sore still?" Pyrrha nodded, "You'll get used to the ache, and it will eventually subside. You're of my host as well. Though I am of the Sacrosanct chamber."

Pyrrha seemed perplexed still. The name was strikingly, yet she had no idea what it exactly was, or how she gained the knowledge of it. The man seemed to pick up on that.

"You're newly forged as I said before. Things shall be confusing for some time — new memories and names. It came with the forging. Worry not." He then waved, "I am Aldrin, Alrin Sexton, you are?"

"Pyrrha... Nikos? Yes. Pyrrha Nikos." Pyrrha chuckled awkwardly, "Forgive me, my mind is, um... How to put it..."

"Fuzzy?" Aldrin offered.

"Yes! That." Pyrrha said pointing to him.

"It will fade, once everything settles."

The huntress smiled, "Good," She sat up, now leaning against the wall as well. She looked out the wide window that dominated the wall to the right of her bed. Outside she could see stars and comets striking by, a great ring that seemed to be a city stretched out before her. It was awe-inspiring, truly,

"Where am I?" Was all Pyrrha was able to say in response to the sight.

"Azyr, the Realm of Heaven."

Pyrrha was still struggling to find the words that best describe what raced through her mind, all she managed was, "Incredible."

"Aye." Aldrin spoke as well, "Amazing, isn't it."

Pyrrha looked back to Aldrin, "I take it we don't battle darkness from here."

Her fellow Stormcast let out a snort, "Funny. Keep that trait. It'll serve you well. And I would recommend you cherish this moment, Pyrrha Nikos. The next couple weeks shall put you through your paces soon enough."

Aqshy, City State of Laconia

Lord Celestant Theodora found herself in the midst of a great battle, though not one fought with blades, but with words.

The warriors who participated in this battle where the Senators of Laconia. Elected individuals who represented the Will of The People in the city-state of Laconia. This had not been Theodora's first engagement in the Senate, and she doubted it'd be her last. The lord celestant allowed the battle to unfold before her. She took note of debate tactics and tone which the senators spoke in.

'Knowledge is power,' She thought to herself; even knowledge of debate tactics. Theodora felt oddly at home in the tense halls of the Senate. Perhaps in some life long past, Theodora had been one of these senators. A warrior of words battling for her people.

"Such matters are to not our concern! Let the foreigners try and fail, again and again, to tame what cannot be tamed!" Senator Cassian spoke to his fellow senators, marching across the marble stage before the raised seats of the Senate.

The debate had been spurred by recent tragedy that Theodora had witnessed. brayherds on the edges of the Hellenic Plateau had struck at settlements belonging to Azyrites. They came to the Realm of Fire looking for opportunity — lives that may reap a considerable fortune. The plateau's volcanic soil and the Morunfall Realmgate brought rains from the Realm of Life, gifting the further soil potency. Cash crops such as cotton were great incentives to come to the Realm of Fire.

Cassian was an old Politarii. The party represented the farmers and laborers interests in the city-state. Part of that had been the protection of land and jobs from 'foreigners.' Fears of Azyrite princes buying up vast swaths of land or swarms of colonists from Realms far from there own taking away an opportunity from the Laconians had been an old fear that seemed immortal. Despite numerous treaties, the Politarii never seemed satisfied.

"We are not to be held responsible for the failings of the Azyrites! They came to this land of their own accord. Settling in the shadow of the Medusian Mountains, despite our warnings!" Various jeers and cheers came throughout the room as Cassian spoke, "And look what has come to pass my fellow citizens! Azyrite settlements burn! Should we weep for them?" He gazed briefly to Theodora as if to gauge what he should say next with the imposing Stormcast present. Turning his eyes back to the Senate proper he answered his question, "No! No, I say! It was there own foolishness that brought them there downfall!"

That earned the ire of some, particularly of another senator, Senator Victoria Prim, a member of the Principes, the party of the soldiers, "Where is your heart, honorable friend?! There deaths, like any other, is a tragedy. Least we should do is open our gates, and welcome the widows and orphans of those settlements to find homes here!"

"And should we open our gates to their princes and their priests as well? Shall we allow Sigmar to claim our city as he has done to so many others?" Cassian fired back, "I will not allow our independence, that our ancestors paid for by their blood be taken away by bleeding hearts! We must remain stalwart! Our gates must remain closed!"

The debate had been going like this for, perhaps, half an hourglass, the lord celestant wagered. No side seemed to be able to claim a victory. While the Politarii and Principes held their ground, the Plebians and Nobilis, minorities in the Senate, appeared unmoved. There party leaders keeping them hushed, as if to allow both sides to exhaust themselves, only for them to rush onto the battlefield to claim the day.

Theodora had seen it done before. Maximillian Voltis, of the Nobilis, had done it before. He was an actor by trade, his natural charisma a deadly weapon on this political battlefield. That said, Maximillian seemed to be rather quiet this day. Theodora waged it had been because the Nobilis, being from the artisans of the city-state, who benefited greatly from trading with these new settlements, as well as offering their services to the princes as mentioned earlier. That said, a sense of mild xenophobia could be detected about them not overt like the Poltarii, but one hidden by honeyed words and seemingly altruistic actions.

"Enough!"

The firm baritone voice ended the battle. It echoed through the room for a few moments. Consul Remus Tiber sat up straight in his marble throne that faced the Senate. It was the consul who regulated the speech of the Senate and called it to order when needed. Remus had waited patiently for the battle to come to some conclusion, Theodora thought, and finally realized that it was at a stalemate.

The grey-haired man let out a sigh as he stood from his seat, using his cane to aid him in the endeavor. The sight of him with a cane gave Theodora a strange feeling in her chest. It seemed only yesterday that Remus Tiber had been a centurion in the legion. A brave warrior, marching out to face the Darkoath tribes, that bit on the edges of the City States dominion. Now he was a statesman, with wife, four sons, two daughters, and a cohort of grandchildren.

"Emotions are high. That is easy to see," Remus spoke carefully, his gaze made it's way around the Senate for a moment, resting longer on those more vocal champions of the people, "It would seem that calling a vote now would be foolish. Such decisions should be left up to those with cooler heads."

"For the moment, we shall call this session to a close, in observance for tonight's festivities," Remus let that hang for a moment, it was the End of The Long Night, a night of feasting and music. Such a festival was quite the event, and would surely shut the city down for the rest of the day, "Tomorrow, in the cool evening, we shall hold words briefly, and then call a vote. I encourage you to drink and be merry, and to ask what your ancestors would have done." With a firm strike on the marble staircase leading to the Consul's throne, he said, "Dismissed."

The senators began to leave their seats. Theodora stood aside so the senators could go. Whispering senators fell silent, concerned, angry, and fearful gazes all greeted Theodora as they passed by. She kept a calm, neutral expression despite the evident distrust she faced, Theodora did not wish to fuel their fears, no affirm their prejudices.

The last senator had left, Theodora turned but had been halted by Remus calling to her, "Not you. You stay."

Theodora turned to the consul, "You command me?" A slight smile was forming as she asked the question.

Remus chuckled, "It amazes me how you have not changed."

"It amazes me that you haven't either." The lord-celestan replied.

The consul laughed, "Haven't? Look at me Stormcast! I am an old man now. I have a horde of grandchildren and a procession of apothecaries who will testify to that fact."

The lord celestant approached the throne, Remus sitting back in it. She took a few steps up it, and only had to come halfway to be at eye level with the consul. She got a better look at his rugged features now.

"You've neglected to shave," Theodora observed.

Remus smiled, "Ah, forgive me," He ran a hand across his tan, worn chin, "I've been faced with many challenges as of late. Shaving has fallen at the wayside as a result."

Theodora became concerned upon hearing that, "Your wife, Martina, is she in good health?"

Remus didn't make eye contact, "She endures."

The Stormcast bowed her head, "I shall pray for her."

The consul nodded, "I thank you for that kindness, old friend." He looked back to the Stormcast, his weathered, amber eyes still holding the sparks of a younger man, "Now. We have much to discuss. Tell me. Your host fights on the edges of the plateau, near the sea, yes?"

Theodora nodded, "The darkoath have been roused recently, and the Red Horde, a brayherd clan, has emerged from the sea as well. As according to our brothers in the Astral Templars."

"More Stormcast?" Asked the consul.

"Your friends in the politarii will be glad to hear the Astral Templars could not spare troops to pursue them." Theodora said dryly, "Still. We shall remain committed to driving back the shadow of the Ruinous Powers. Wherever it may arise."

Remus hummed to himself, "And I am grateful for that. I'm also certain that my fellow citizens are as well."

"Some less so than others, I would wager." Theodora did not mean to come off as abrasive, but the Stormcast knew that Remus did not represent the whole of Laconia.

The consul could detect that, he sighed as he leaned back into his throne, "I cannot control Cassian. Far too passionate for a reason."

"What of the Nobilis? They could be swayed." Theodora purposed, "From my observations, the Nobilis, while perhaps wary of outsiders, they're also sympathetic."

Remus then narrowed his gaze; a thought occurred to him, "Has any ever seen you without your armor?"

Theodora was admittedly taken aback by the query, chuckling slightly, "Perhaps some of my brothers when I choose to remove it. Though I do not believe any mortal has ever seen me without it on."

The consul smiled, "Are you coming to the festival tonight?"

"Am I invited?"

"Now you are."

Theodora nodded, "I shall be there then."

"Good. May I recommend something then."

 _Aqshy, Hellenic Plateau, Township of Anchorhal_

Anchorhal was the only place Ty could think of to rid himself of his current burden. His new, babbling, hot-headed burden. The red-headed sorceress had been on and on since her capture two nights ago. The morning he held sight of the city, he almost killed her out a need to end the source of his vex.

"And then the bastard shot at me. With, like, a gun, who does that?!"

Amelia the Firebrand. A hot-headed thief who'd assault some poor dispossessed who'd earned her ire after they demanded she yields her seat to them in a tavern. The story devolved into a list of other crimes that made her name a hefty bounty.

"Was that before, or after you burnt his kin's beard to ashes, I can't remember," Ty flatly asked the pyromancer.

"A joke! Can't those squat little bastards take a joke!" At that Ty pulled the chain he had her by a bit hard, causing Amelia to nearly trip, "Hey! Rude!"

"Mhm." Ty grunted, he gave his steed, Rose, a griffon-charger, a good rub across the back, "Almost there girl. Will be inside the walls before the sun is beating down on us."

"Oh, I see how it is!" Amelia shouted at the bounty hunter, "What? Give her a good-"

Before the hot-headed pyromancer could finish she found her chain jerked again, and she tumbled to the ground, landing squarely on her face. Amelia managed to push herself up, and with a slight wobble, assume a mostly stable stance. The bonds she found herself in held Azyrite runes that would give her a good shock if she tried anything. They weighed heavily on her slight frame, yet she was not detoured. She cheated the noose before; she'd do it again.

"Come on, you wretch," Ty looked down at her from the saddle, "Keep at this and I'll take your head now."

She cackled, "Oh like you would. You know I'm worth more alive than dead!"

Ty turned back to the trail, "Certainly. That doesn't mean having to deal with you is worth the reward."

"Come now bounty hunter! You enjoy my tales! I've even seen a smile on your lips."

Ty now let out a sigh, "Shut up..."

This had been the norm for the past couple days, and the status quo did not change. The pyromancer would not shut up, and Ty continued to nod and 'Hmm,' every so often to satisfy his charge enough to keep her from becoming more vexing.

The trail to Anchorhal offered nothing too impressive. The plateau rose above the Theibian Wastes, nothing but blistering sand for miles to the south of Hellenic. To the north, the Teras Sea dominated the northern coastline. It was said that a realm gate was buried at that bottom of that sea, leading to the Realm of Beats. That being the explanation for the terrible monsters that lived in its foggy waves.

Anchorhal's walls were low, and manned by few guardsmen. It nagged at Ty's inner soldier. The walls from the bounty hunter's judgement could be scaled easily. He wagered, even in his plate and chain, he would be able to vault the walls before the guardsmen could sound the alarm. Such concerns would've been alleviated had there been more guardsmen on the walls, which it did not have.

"Never been to this settlement!" Amelia spoke loudly to battle the approaching sounds of the hustle and bustle of the town, "Tell me! What is it known for?"

"Well. It's Anchorhal for a reason." Ty spoke flatly.

Amelia looked around, "Well I don't see a river, nor sea. Where is-"

She was cut off by a passing skyship, it flying lazily overhead. It was a bulbous cargo ship; it's barring indicated it was on it's way to Hammerhal Aqshy. It became clear to Amelia that this bounty wasn't for frontier crimes.

"Your... You're taking me back to Hammerhal?" Her voice had far less bravado now.

"Mhm."

"But... What about the bounty? You told me it was for that-"

"The dwarves?" Ty asked with a slight laugh, "No. I'm wiser than you think. Hangman in Hammerhal is far more willing to see you live long enough to be hung there."

Amelia felt a tinge of panic fall over her. At worst, she thought she'd spend a few nights, maybe a fortnight in the stockade. But this bounty hunter was far more familiar with her than he had let on.

"Look. Please, I- I was far dumber when I was younger-"

Ty curtly cut her off, "Younger? You're, what? Twenty?"

"Twenty-five. Okay. Twenty-five summers." Amelia's poster became more hunched, as the weight of past sins begun to weigh on her, "Listen, please. Just turn me in for the dwarves. I'll plead no contest. That'll net you more silver."

"Or I could turn you into Hammerhal and earn ur-gold. That's worth far more."

Amelia fell silent at that, too Ty's relief. It may have also been the town that drowned her out. At this time of day, Anchorhal was busy with work. The harbor workers were at the sky-ports, towards the rear of the port. During this various merchants were hard at work selling their wares.

Farmers choked the road with wagons fit to burst with crops. Some were hauling grain, their carts wore and torn, pulled by even more venerable mules, their drivers tired and in dirty, sweat-drenched rags. Others carried with them bounties of cotton. Those wagons were in far better health, overseen by mean looking mercenaries. The drivers sat next to well-dressed businessmen. They'd probably never worked the fields that their cotton grew in, but tirelessly observed the trade of their crop.

Carefully, Ty navigated the packed street. He'd forgotten what time of year it was. The spring harvest was on, and the wanting to collect and sell crop before the summer blazed in drove farmers by the dozens to the nearby townships and cities to sell so they could buy reserves of water to fill their stores to survive the summer drought. Ty kept an eye on his charge. He'd almost forgotten his pyromancer. She was silent now, perhaps knowing she was on her way to the noose robbed her of confidence. If it meant she'd be quiet, it suited him well.

Rose squawked, something riled her up.

"Shh," Ty patted her on the mane, "Easy girl, what disturbs you."

Looking down Ty did see the source of the nervousness the griffin-charger felt. A cat. A small, orange and black tabby. That cat sat in the path of the bounty hunter. He chuckled, dismounting, he marched over to the tabby, which stood its ground in the face of the tattooed, armored, warrior.

"Go on, get." He pushed the tabby gently, "You're taking up the road you crazy cat."

He felt a chill come over him. He turned to look over his shoulder, inspecting his mark. Amelia stood there in silence still, now sulking with her shoulders slumped. He turned back to the cat; something was off. Ty knew air change was an indication of the arcane.

"Come on you," He moved to push it again, only for the tabby to now hiss, and runoff, "Odd little guy..." He trailed off, "Come on Rose, let's find a stable."

Finding a suitable place to board a griffon-charger was often a gambit. However, it would seem Ty ran into a bit of luck. A prospective young lad, eager to make coin, told him that a nearby tavern had a stable for griffon-chargers. After spending her silver for the information, the bounty hunter found himself before the 'Prancing Griffon: Stable and Board.' It was a prominent building in the town square, as evident by the well-crafted sign, and fresh paint job it had.

Handing off Rose to a Lilith aelve woman he went inside to get a room. He wrapped Amelia's chain around his around to ensure she didn't try anything when they went inside. Ty noted several 'looks' directed towards him. It wasn't odd for bounty hunters to come through Anchorhal, yet to bring a charge with them was positively bizarre.

The barkeep noted that as Ty and Amelia approached the bar, "I don't care if you're from the States, slavery is illegal here. As decreed by Sigmar himself!" He spoke with a proper Azyrite accent. However, Ty realized it was more than likely fake.

"Relax. Just bringing my bounty with me. I'm an agent of the law. Here to take her to hang in Hammerhal." Ty smoothed things over quickly, no need to get heated, "Now, how about a room?"

The barkeep put the glass he had been cleaning to take a look at Amelia, "Is she a mage?"

Ty shrugged, "Aye, look, I got her in irons. Runed irons. She ain't casting-"

"Oh, bloody no!" The bartender pointed him outside, "She can go to some other tavern and burn it down. Not here. No sir!"

Ty rolled his eyes, "Sir. She's got a big price on her head, I'm-"

"It's bloody policy sir! How else do you think we keep this place from burning down! No mages!" He pointed to a sign at the entrance that Ty, neglected to read, "Ain't-" He cleared his throat, catching him slipping into his native Gyhran accent, "It isn't anything personal. It's just business."

Ty leveled at the bartender before saying, "Right. Well, got any idea when the next ship to Hammerhal is coming?"

The bartender shook his head, "Lad, you don't get it. Mages ride on cargo ships. Not on passenger liners. And good luck. You'll end up paying up a hefty sum to get her to the noose."

Ty then heard Amelia whispering smugly, "Why, it seems I'm just not worth the trouble. Aren't I?"

The bounty hunter begun to feel hot under the collar, this was no good. This bounty was supposed to pay a lot of debts that had built up. Even if he could get another loan, because Ty genuinely believed he'd need on to get to Hammerhal at this point, he wasn't sure if the bounty would be worth it now. Ty then settled on a dark thought.

"Keep my griffon in the stable, me and my 'friend'-" He jerked Amelia's chain as he began to walk from the tavern, "-I'll be back."

"Of course sir."

The bounty hunter dragged he pyromancer out of the tavern, Amelia seemingly elated, "My oh my, aren't I the luckiest girl in all of Aqshy!"

Ty didn't say anything. Death was in his eyes.

"Well, I suppose it's to the stockade then... Right?"

Ty kept marching at a pace that Amelia struggled to stay at, "Hey! How about slowing down?"

The town square wasn't crowded. However, Ty didn't take any measure to avoid others. He pressed past them like flood water crushing trees. They were now out of the square, into the backstreets. Amelia felt herself becoming anxious again.

"Where are we going?" She asked the bounty hunter, "Never seen a stockade in the back- Hey! I nearly tripped slow down."

At some point, they came to an exotic garden hidden by some of the taller buildings near the town walls. Amelia then noted the guardsmen were patrolling nearby.

"Ah! Sir! Sir!" Amelia called to the guardsmen, who noticed them quite quickly, "Could you point my captor in the direction of the stockade!"

"Halt there sir!" The red-headed boy in uniform strode towards them, "Explain yourself!"

Ty then produced his bounty hunters medallion, the skull, and gavel, "Bounty hunter. I'm collecting." He then pressed into the boy soldier a fist full of silver.

Counting the coins, he seemed satisfied, "Carry on then."

"Good." In one swift motion Amelia found herself on her knees and a pistol to her head, "Now. Tell me why I shouldn't send your soul to Lord of Bones and your corpse to Hammerhal?" He then cocked the hammer.

Amelia went pale, "What? Really? Backalley? You know they'll hear you? Come on Ty. Ty right? We can work something out. I bet-"

Bang!

The gun went off right next to Amelia's ear. She felt the bullet past her. She fell to the ground, writhing on the ground. Ty then produced a second pistol. Murder in his gaze he kicked her onto her back, boot on her chest, he pointed the gun at her.

Click.

"Beg! Beg you fucking cow!"

Amelia couldn't form words. She was terrified.

"Come on! You were so fucking talkative for that fucking week I dragged you around the Plateau! Out of stories?! Out of fucking jokes?!"

The pyromancer was sobbing, holding clasped hands up defensively.

"Please! P-please! I-I don't wanna die!" She spoke between sobs, "I didn't wanna kill those people! I was young, in love, and an idiot! I left Hammerhal cause of that shit! I tried to change but I couldn't! Please! Don't kill me..." She said looking up to Ty, "I'm afraid! I've always been afraid..." She descended back into sobs. Nasty sobs, her breath fogging.

Wait.

Ty then noted his breath. It fogged as well. Was no magic she did.

"What the bloody hell is that!"

From the walls Ty noted the guardsmen were yelling, and scurrying about the walls. Ty couldn't see what it was, but it didn't seem immediately threatening. Slowly, however, a thick fog rolled over the battlements. It crept over Ty and Amelia, Ty barely able to see Amelia in the mist. It was at that moment that the pyromancer ran for it.

Bang!

Ty let loose a shoot, that missed. The pyromancer ran into the fog, cackling all the way. He cursed to himself and produced his grossmesser; he was not about to allow her to escape.

Dashing after the cackles and glimpses of red, tattered dress Ty noted that it got cooler as the fog rolled continued to roll in. Something was wrong. Fog like this? Chill like this? Completely out of the ordinary. Still, that was not on his mind. Finally, he caught the bitch again. She tries to free herself of her manacles on a lamp hook. Grossmesser to her neck she raised her hands.

But before he heard the sound of horns, and now he went pale. He knew those horns. He thought he'd left those horns behind long ago. His soldiering days' instincts kicked in. Ty needed to put distance.

"Wanna live?" Ty asked Amelia, she about to give some long-winded, cocky answer before Ty cut her off, "Then follow!"

Jerking her chain, he found his way out of the maze of back streets and back onto the main road. All the while horns grew louder, joined by beastial roars.

"What the hell-" Amelia tried to speak but found himself cut off by another shout.

"Beastmen!"

Ty turned to see a beastial, red-furred, half man, half goat creature hurtling down the road. Savage club in hand, already red with blood. Amelia screamed, and Ty jumped into action. It was a gor. Healthy, perhaps a little higher in the pecking order considering it's size. That told Ty what he needed to know to kill it.

The gor smashed aside a poor onlooker and faced Ty, only it didn't find a defenseless Azyrite. He saw an angry bounty hunter, armed with steel and fury. Sweeping wide the beastmen arced his club to take both Ty and Amelia.

Jerking the chain hard Ty brought the pyromancer to the ground, he meanwhile dodged, into the blow. Rolling underneath the club, he brought his grossmesser upward, finding the beastman's wrist and biting right through it.

Without a right hand, the beastman screamed in pain, and his club found itself impacted into a nearby wall. Ty needed to finish this; only good beastman was a dead one. Backing up, evading the coming retaliatory headbutt. Ty brought his Grossmesser's hilt downward, cracking the gor's horned skull. The beastman tumbled down, landing face first into the cobbles, allowing the bounty hunter a true strike to the neck, decapitating the beastman.

With skill, Ty could kill a beastman easily, but with more emerging out of the fog, talent wasn't going to be enough.

"Free me." Ty looked down to Amelia, a wicked look about her, "Free me." She repeated.

Ty then realized that he had an angry, scared pyromancer with him as well. Though he thought just to leave her, leaving her in chains to be meat for the beastman would be a waste. Cursing, Ty dashed over, producing the key from his jerkin he unlocked the manacles. As soon as the irons fell from her wrists, sparks flared from her palms.

The pyromancer began to cackle, attracting the next gors.

"Here my pretties! Come to me!" Her very hair begun to whip upwards, it seemingly sparking and burning, as her hands became engulfed in flame.

A trio of gors burst from the Mist and met the same fate. Fire. The realm of Aqshy was the Realm of Fire. Pyromancy thrived here, and so the flames that burnt the beastmen were white and blue as their flesh was not so much burnt away, but melted into slag, turning bones black as they crumbled into ashy soup on the cobbles.

While the gors burned, Ty reloaded his pistols. He had no intentions of dying. Not here. Not now. He fully intended to become an old, fat man, and die with his wife clinging to him and his sons fighting over who got what in the inheritance.

Bang! Bang!

Two more shots rang at as two more beastmen that managed to evade the Pyromancers wrath. Sounds of battle now filled the city. Panicked citizens fled the walls as the beastman had taken them, as evident by the multitude of gors already in the city.

The pyromancer and the bounty hunter began to pull back, further towards the town center slowly. Even with the white-hot spellfire, the beastmen would overwhelm them. Ty did his best to defend his captive, now his ally, from flanking gors. He'd lost one of his pistols in the fighting but still pressed on. His grossmesser now slick with beastman blood.

"Hold your ground! Sigmar is with us!"

A war cry from behind alerted Ty to the presence of a warpriest. His hammer was breaking the back of another gor as he pushed towards the bounty hunter and Pyromancer.

"Hail! Priest of Sigmar!" Ty called to him, "How many are you?"

The priest laughed, "Sigmar is with us! Is that not enough?" The red-headed, lanky priest slammed his glowing hammer into another gor, sending it tumbling to the cobbles, "But if you wish to live, come too-"

Thunder.

They all heard it. The unmistakable sound of that meant help had arrived. Another two bolts shined through the fog, far from the city, but soon to save them.

The pyromancer let out a long cackle before saying, "Oh! You're all fucked now!"


	3. Chapter 3: Breach the Mist

**Breach The Mist  
**  
 _Aqshy, Township of Anchorhal_

Liberator Prime Marius Canius surveyed the battlefield before him. Already various stratagems from battles past emerged to the forefront of his mind. Experience had been the wet stone that sharpened his mind.

The battle before him was obscured, but from what he could make out it was more of a brawl than an actual fight. Shapes resembling beastmen struggled to deal with smaller forms that he assumed were the city guard. Their formation had broken, their halberds and swords wouldn't nearly be as effective in this kind of fight against this foe. Something in Marius called for him to damn tactics, and rush into the melee. A burning desire to save those few remaining guardsmen and those mortals who fled through the fight, weaving between duels. He tempered himself with cold logic. He knew not what came at him, he knew not how many beastmen there were. Marius needed to be cunning, not brutish. That would win the day.

Curiously, the brayherds had not noticed the bolt that brought the Tempest Lords here, even more interestingly, it had seemed that the beastmen were not all that interested in the fight itself. While there was a brief melee before the liberators to deal with, Marius could see figures rushing from the eastern walls, moving away from the town. It'd also seem the mist that obscured the beastmen begun to roll over that very same wall, hiding the exact number that fled the city.

Above, a winged stormcast swooped low, allowing Marius to speak to her, "Venator!" He called to her, star eagle sweeping right over his plume, "Those beastmen fleeing eastward, tell me, do they take captives." It had been the first thought as to why they would leave.

She shouted back to him as she ascended upwards, "No! They take loot! Metal of any kind!"

"Loot?" Marius spoke the word aloud, perplexed by it.

It had been rare for beastmen to take an interest in anything shiny. Trophies yes, but mass looting was something more common in Orruks. Marius refocused on the battle, questions as too what the beastmen were doing could wait. Banging his warblade against his shield, he rallied his liberators.

"Brothers! Sisters!" Marius called, turning round to look upon his cohort, "Another battle lies before us! Another struggle to surmount! Ready your blades! For Sigmar has more work for us!" The thunderous cheer and clanging of blades and shields caught the brayherds attention. "Perhaps lighting isn't all that interesting to them..." Marius grumbled to himself as the battle now decided to come to him and his liberators.

The greatest of the gors grunted something like a command and motioned for the lesser gors to forget the humans before then, for Sigmar had sent his warriors to face them. Once they came into judicator range, Marius stratagem had been selected, and the plan already went into motion.

"Shields up!" He bellowed as the liberators locked shields and readied for coming beastial tied. "Ioseph! Take your grand hammer and five shields! Be ready to pour around us!"

"Aye!" Liberator Ioseph bellowed, "Who will join me!"

A series of clangs of sigmarite and grunts of acknowledgment signaled that the plan had already gone into motion. Overhead, prosecutors swooped over the coming beastial tied, javelinas picking off the larger beastmen, while hammers slammed into packs of lesser gors. Still, the tide of beastmen came.

"Ready yourself to swing the gate open!" Marius ordered.

Liberators fanned out to the flanks, packing tightly on the left and right while leaving the middle thin. Marius then placed his shield upon his back, opting to arm himself with a second warblade. The four other liberators in the middle of the formation followed suit.

"Be ready to fight backward!" Marius shouted right as the beastial tide was upon them.

Right as the beastmen made contact, the trap had been sprung. Marius with his brothers and sisters in the middle of the formation begun to fall back, slowly, enduring the beastmen's charge. As they did this, liberators on either side of the center locked their shields facing the middle as the beastmen marched into the formation. The plan relied upon the foe believing they had to advantaged and had breached the wall of sigmarite. In either wrathful arrogance or beastial ignorance they pressed into the trap.

The lesser beastmen who remained on the flanks were soon swiftly dealt with as Ioseph arrived with the rest of his volunteers, cleaning the stragglers and soon the gate had been closed behind the beastmen. Trapped in a corral of sigmarite, the beastmen began to panic. They started to frenzy, eager to escape the noose that had tightened around there throat, and it only grew tighter.

The liberators pressed into them, causing the beastmen to squish into one another. There fighting capabilities begun to strain as they could no longer swing their weapons without striking one of their kin nor gain the momentum to land a serious blow. That did not mean they gave up on. Hooves and claws beat and scratched sigmarite, hoping to fell at least one of the Stormcast. Mulls and whimpers could be heard as the Stormcast slaughtered the beastmen like cattle. Such reactions came not from the fear of death, Marius assumed, but by the great anguish of not even being able to fight back.

When the last beastmen fell, Marius whistled a familiar tune, signally the liberators to fall back into formation. The Liberator Prime gazed over the field towards the walled city. The fog lingered but had lost its thickness. Marius could make out buildings; familiar shapes of airship docks. With blessed eyesight, the Liberator Prime observed beastmen tearing and ripping any metal off the dock. They became easy targets for prosecutors who visited wrath upon them. All the while, Marius' liberators checked one another; giving praise and advice were it was due.

"Do not celebrate yet!" Marius called out, "Plenty of work for us still!"

"Do we give chase, Prime?!" Ioseph eagerly asked, "I see them fleeing in the mist to our east!"

"First we cleanse the city. Let the prosecutors and hunters deal with those who flee."

* * *

Above, Knight-Venator Pala Stormrider, sought another target. The fog had begun to clear when the stormcast thundered in. Lord-Relictor Yule Anvilborne countered the fell magic that produced the fog, summoning winds to blow at the stormcasts backs as the marched in. Pala could see the mist fleeing eastward, stubbornly holding against the wind, and hooking northward, towards the crags that led to the sea. She pushed thoughts of giving chase aside. The battle was here.

Pala found her next target. A particularly brutal looking beastman, who'd fashioned himself a cape of skin and bones collected from various denizens of the mortal realms. While the fog obscured the more exceptional details, the arrogant beast stood on a wagon, surprisingly intact, allowing the knight-venator an easy target. As she went into a dive, she drew an arrow from her quiver, Flash, her star eagle, keeping pace with her.

Nock.

Pala's target remained obscured from her sight directly. Liberators marched from the north and south, city guardsmen held in the Temple of Sigmar to the east and the grainery in the west. The remaining beastmen were now being forced towards the center of the city.

Draw.

The knight Venator singled out her target, as she begun to pick up speed. Bolting over the brayherds that roared and raved in the full, burning town. Penetrating a tall pillar of black, ember choked smoke she sighted her foe cleanly. The beastmen stood proudly among it's kind, axes bloody it roared over a now dead city guardsman, his shield ruined, spear broken, he lay before his killer in a pool of blood.

Loose.

The arrow _whooshed_ from her bow. It did not so much sail like a normal arrow, such projectiles were empowered by the blessing of the Six Smiths. A bolt of such origins struck through the air flashing like vengeance made manifest. The arrow hit through the beastman's scarred chest, pulling the slave of darkness to the ground with it.

Pala used the moment to strafe over the gors that choked the street. She flipped around, allowing her celestial wings to burn through the herd of gors. She did not carefully select targets during this, her bow sending bolts of divine vengeance into any who seemed to be still standing after being burnt by her wings. Flash preyed upon a monstrously large, red-furred gor, his talons ripping it's throat bloody, beak picking his eyes into crimson craters before rejoining his master.

The knight-venator soared back to the sky and begun to seeking yet another particularly offensive foe. During which, Pala was joined by Prosecutor Prime Kador Rider, his war-helm was gone, and a bloody furrow now marred his tan face.

"A close encounter?" Pala asked, her eyes turning back to the town.

"Aye, but there is something else." He motioned with his decimator ax eastward, "My sister, Calee, reports that those who fled the town before we arrived make for the crags and furrows north east of here. Shall we cut them off before they can escape into the underground?"

The knight venator shook her head, "Let the hunters find them later. The fight is here, now."

Before she could select another target, movement upon the rooftops caught her eye. A young boy scurried up to the roof of a tavern at the city square. Claws slashing out at him as beastmen pursued him. Her blessed eyesight gave her the perception too see gors had a fork lodged into his nostril. It wasn't a great leap to make that perhaps that child had fight in him.

Something in the back of her mind screamed. A faded memory of some tragedy long hammered out of her upon the Anvil. It could not be ignored, how could it be ignored? Her previous, calculated process was abounded as she hurled herself, like a comet, towards the boy, moved by something she once cherished, and perhaps still did.

Arrows soared through the air biting into the beast men crawling from the balcony up to the roof. Some tumbled from it, the bolts stealing their chance at blood, while others endured the hail of arrows. Flash, knowing of his master's will clashed into the gors. Talons ripping at claws, rending great bloody furrows, exposing bone and ligament.

Pala smashed into the tavern's balcony, landing with such great force she sent several tumbling through the walls. Celestial wings sliced and burnt at the gors who remained, her bow becoming a brutal club, that broke the remaining gors into bloodied submission. Flying from the balcony upwards she found the boy. Tears still rolling down his cheeks, minors cuts and bruises along his exposed arms and knees.

She reached out, "Child, come!" Pala spoke warmly, easing the terrified blonde boy.

The boy rushed towards her, jumping into her sigmarite grasp. Yet before they could soar away, the tavern was rendered to splinters and rubble as a minotaur busted through the front of the building, hammer raised to strike. Pala could not fly away fast enough, nor could she just drop the boy. She turned her back to the great beast and held the child tightly. A prayer to Sigmar on her lips that she would survive the strike.

She felt the blow crumple her sigmarite, blood ran down her right leg as she felt bones crack. One of her wings absorbed the majority of the strike, yet it was still a might blow. She was slammed into the ground, skipping across the cobbles of the square, pulping several gors as she did so. Pala felt the child still in grasp, however, frightened, but alive. She shakily stood, one of her angelic wings damned she hid the boy behind her, retracting her wings to ensure she would not harm the child.

She looked to see the brayherd had now noticed her and the child, chiefly among them, the minotaur. It snarled and kicked at the ground as it propelled itself forward, squashing and sending gors tumbling aside as it charged forward to finish what it had started.

Nock.

She readied an arrow, despite the pain in her arm suggesting a crack in her bone were the sigmarite had been dented.

Draw.

She aimed between the minotaurs eyes, it's red fur shining with blood.

Yet before she could let loose the arrow, Kador slammed into the charging minotaur. It skipped across the cobblestone, the prosecutor prime opening a bloody canyon with his decimator ax across the neck of the minotaur. More winged Tempest Lords joined the fray. Celestial hammers hailed down upon the gors, javelins lancing the stronger, more fearsome foes. Pala did not remain idle during this. The knight venator sending arrow after arrow into charging gors, keeping the child safe from the beastmen throughout her volleys.

Soon, the square had been secured, and Pala fell to a knee, her body ached in pain. The child she saved clung to her armored leg still in fear, but the threat against him had been thoroughly removed.

"Pala!" Kador called to the knight-venator, "Are you hurt, sister?"

She laughed, "No Kador, I only wished to kneel so I may ask Sigmar to forgive me for my foolishness."

The crack of thunder from above caused Pala to note the lack of fog, and the gentle, soothing rain falling softly to the ground. The knight-venator chuckled to herself, it would seem her prayers were answered.

The healing properties of the storm wrought by the lord-relictor brought peace to her aching wounds. The child, still hugging to Pala looked up to her, his blue eyes wandering up to her war-helm.

"Are you okay?" The child seemed concerned.

Pala smiled beneath her war-helm, replying, "I am more worried for you. Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

Pala, satisfied by that fact looked to Kador, "Brother. Tell me. The beasts, do they hold ground in the temple district?"

He chuckled, "With the sisters and priests holding it? They stood no chance! Not to mention the pyromancer that found her way there."

Feeling her strength return thanks to the storm she, grunting, stood up, she motioned to the child, "Come. I'll take you to the temple. You shall be safe there."

"Are you sure? I saw lots of those man-goats over there."

Pala got down on her haunches, taking her helm off, revealing her dark skin and brown eyes, showing the child her confident smile, "If there is any place the God-King wouldn't let fall, it'd be his own home here." She opened her arms to him, "Come. I shall carry you there."

The boy seemed far calmer upon that. He stopped shaking once in Pala's grasp, he laid his head upon her armored chest. The knight-venator began to hum a song of sorts. The context of it had long faded, but the tune nevertheless seemed to lull the child to sleep.

* * *

Ty fell to a sitting position, leaning against the base of a statue of some saint he didn't know. Nevertheless, the granite slab he rested his head against providing the comfort he sought. His chest still heaved.

The battle was won.

Rain had come, washing a good portion of the blood from the streets. It also, for a moment, seem to give new vigor to Ty, though it was gone as soon as it came. The Stormcast had remained, though there were feared whispers that they were going to move on soon. The bounty hunter had heard rumors that the Eternal Storm was stretched thin. Fighting war after war against both the Enemy, and the Dead.

The temple was still feeling the strains of battle, however. Wounded of all walks of life were being ferried into the temple grounds to be overseen by the priests and any surgeons who might've been passing through. The local order of the Sisters of Sigmar, the Blazing Roses, were distributing food, water and medical aid to any who were in need of it as well. The town guard had been rallied in the square before the temple, what remained of it anyway, clearing out the beastman corpses, and organizing them to be taken out via cart to be disposed of outside the city.

The bounty hunter would wager his last silver than he slew perhaps three score or so of the bastards by himself. Though he'd be confident that Amelia had killed far more. The pyromancer was splayed out on the steps towards the temple, still giggling to herself in a concerning manner.

"What's so damn funny," Ty managed to get out between breaths.

Amelia seemed to try to move, this evident by not even making an effort to look towards Ty, "I don't think you understand," She said between hurried breaths and quiet giggles, "Pyromancy has a lot of, huff, adverse effects... It makes me ticklish!" She said with a raise, letting out another cackle that ended with a cough and heavy breathing.

Heavy footsteps coming down from the Temple of Sigmar alerted Ty to a Sister of Sigmar. She was a young one, too young to fight in Ty's book. Yet despite that fact she had a bloodied hammer at her hip and a jarring look about her. It must've been her first scrape. In a vice grip grasp she held a bucket and ladle, containing, assembly water. Though Ty would prefer beer at this hour if had been honest.

"Water?" The young sister asked.

Ty simply nodded and took the offered ladle. The water was sweet, cold and precisely what the bounty hunter needed after such a brutal scrap. He sighed as he drained the last of the refreshing liquid and handed it back to the sister. She then made her way to the exhausted pyromancer.

"Um, water?" The sister was perplexed by the scene before her.

"Lass just," The pyromancer took a deep breath, "Just pour it on me. Right on my face."

The sister gave a glance back to the bounty hunter, who shrugged. The sister then, slowly, poured cold water onto the pyromancer's face. It steamed up at first upon contact with Amelia's forehead.

"That's the stuff..." Amelia said with a satisfied sigh.

"Friends! You live!"

From further up the stairs the Priest of Sigmar who had fought beside them. Father Phil as he called himself, marched towards the pair. Despite the battle the priest seemed as jovial as when it started. His hammer had been cleaned, it shining now in the setting sun. The priest took a look at Amelia, who was still giggling, albeit far less profoundly.

"Is she... Well?" Phil asked looking to the bounty hunter.

"Fuck would like I know father," Ty raised a hand, "Forgive my language."

The priest laughed, "Do you not think Sigmar let slip a few foul words when he was a mortal? Worry not! I am no prude."

"That's... Good to know..." Amelia managed.

"Well, I am glad I found you safe and well, both of you," Phil spoke sitting down on the steps with them, "The temple has rooms for pilgrims. If you wish to stay the night, I can offer those rooms to you both. Free of charge, ofcourse."

Ty nodded, "Aye, yes... I'll take that offer... Just need to go back and find-"

A loud squawk caused the bounty hunter to rise to his feet with new vigor. Rushing down the street, weaving between working guardsmen was his steed, Rose. Her beak was slick with blood, her talons red with it as well. Though by how she moved, Ty wagered she was alright.

"Rose!" Ty rushed down the steps, meeting his beloved steed in the square. He embraced the beast, the griffon-charger seemingly doing the same by resting her head over his shoulder, "Oh thank Sigmar! Knew they couldn't take ya!"

The griffon charger seemed to squawk in agreement, it now chirping in joy at the sight of her master.

"Good find ya, lass... Let's get some rest."

* * *

 _Azyr, Sigmaron, Palace City of Azyr  
_

Pyrrha shut another book with a thunderous thud. The stormcast gasped slightly as she realized she'd overdone it, again. The newly forged Stormcast still had difficulties when it came to minor motions.

Her first time entering the Library of Sigmaron she pulled the door clean off its hinges, to the amusement of a passing Hallowed Knight. Pyrrha learned a great deal since her reforging. The realms fascinated her the most.

It was said that Mallus, the World That Was, had been destroyed eons ago. Since it's destruction, the magic swirled and collected into forms, these forms springing forth existence once more. Thus, the Mortal Realms were born; each a personification of the magic that created it. Though such a concept weighed heavily on Pyrrha.

A dangerous thought had come to her mind; had Remnant been Mallus? From what she had learned from her brother Hallowed Knight, Avatus, the same who had laughed thunderously at her mishandling of the library entrance, explained that some souls took years to reforge. Countless souls awaited reforging in the Soul Mills, some never even seeing the forge for centuries. It made Pyrrha wonder how long had it been since she died.

It had been why she spent her free time, how limited it was, in the library reading tome after tome, and scroll after scroll. Pyrrha searched for anything connected her past; Beacon, hunters, aura. She had even delved into darker books, looking for mentions of Salem or even the Grimm.

She found nothing.

That had been the most frustrating part. A small portion of Pyrrha found comfort in the priests' many warnings that records and myths of Mallus were rare, and if they existed were overseen by Sigmar himself. The God-King hadn't answered Pyrrha's prayers yet regarding the fate of her home, and her efforts in Azyr seemed to be for nothing.

"Have you found what you were looking for?"

Pyrrha looked from the stack of books to the weathered man. Despite his age, the dark-skinned man stood upright and steady. The priest reminded Pyrrha, much of the professors at Beacon. Old, perhaps. Strong, no doubt.

Pyrrha sat up straight, made eye contact with the man and with a smile replied, "No, but that isn't going to stop me." She spoke in an even, confident tone. Perhaps a bleeding over of her mortal self. Pyrrha was a celebrity once, though she was uncertain what she was famous _for._ As such, she developed ways of overcoming her lack of natural charisma. That said, she truly wished Sigmar had gifted her with more people skills during her reforging.

The priest, politely, smiled back, "Are you certain that you're a quester? I could've sworn that you were intended to be a Lord-Aracum, by how long you've been here."

The Knight-Quester seemed confused by that statement, "What do you mean? I haven't overstayed my welcome have I?"

The priest shook his head, "No you have not. You are a servant of the God-King, the library is always opened to you. However, I wouldn't say my coming to you wasn't about recommendations for your search." The man motioned, "You have a visitor."

Stepping towards her was one of her fellows. Armored in blue and white sigmarite the man bore the staff of a knight-indicator, his blade sheathed. Despite the war-helm, Pyrrha knew who it was.

"Aldrin," Pyrrha nodded, "It is good to see you! What brings you here?"

The stormcast chuckled, "Fear not quester, for I have come to free you of these tomes that bind you here."

Pyrrha rubbed an armored hand on her forehead, slightly embarrassed, "How long has it been?"

"Two days."

Pyrrha had an epiphany: She wasn't hungry. Little things like hunger didn't bother her much since she had become a Stormcast. Yet that did not mean she couldn't eat anymore, the food in Azyrheim was delicious, as she learned at the feast held upon the completion of her training. But she didn't _need_ to eat anymore. Or sleep. Pyrrha was capable of going days without rest, yet eventually around the sixth day or so she felt somewhat tired. The longest she went without sleep was for one month, as a part of her training.

"I need to get better at keeping track of time, perhaps the Six Smiths should add clocks to our armor." Pyrrha joked as she rose from the table, "Allow me a moment to put these away."

The priest came forward, "Please, allow me-"

"No, I insist." The knight-quester's gentle nature overtook her, "My mess, it's only right I clean it up."

Pyrrha took the tomes and began to, as quietly as her armor allowed her, return the books to where she found them, Aldrin aiding in the endeavor. The two had grown close since their first meeting, becoming friends quickly,given that they shared a common backgrounds to a degree.

Aldrin was a prodigy in the arcane arts, his parents, but humble farmers, saved every last penny they had to send him to Azyr to become a mage. Then it grew fuzzy from there, or so he said. Pyrrha did not pry, but because of what he was now, Aldarin had to have met with some terrible fate.

"'Ways and Means to The Realms,' 'Ulrian Greyborn's Guide to Realm Travel.' Preparing for your first venture to the realms proper, eh?"

Pyrrha chuckled, "Something like that."

"Are you nervous?"

Pyrrha looked over her shoulder at the Stormcast, "Should I be?"

"It is natural to feel so, I know I was when they called us from the chamber."

"When the neckroquake occurred?" Pyrrha asked, "How long ago was that?"

"Perhaps a decade now," Aldrin said tapping his staff on the ground, "I was sent back to the Soul Mills afterward. I believe it was a night haunt that got me."

Pyrrha shivered slightly. The Stormcast seemed to talk so casually about their demises. Some were quick and painless. A bolt through the head, or perhaps a decapitating strike. Others spoke of far more terrible fates. Fates that Pyrrha did not dwell on.

"But to the matter at hand-" Aldrin handed Pyrrha another book to put away, "We're departing soon. I was sent to get you. Aqshy calls for us."

"The Realm of Fire..." Pyrrha mused for a moment, "To our fortress at Mournful, yes?"

"Good guess," Aldrin said nodding, "Come, we should avoid being late."

"Pardon," Pyrrha realized something, "Who called for me? I thought I was bound for Ghur. To Lord-Celestant Vicegrip?"

"The Vicegrip's 'grip," Aldrin laughed to himself slightly at the pun, "Is holding, and it was a Lord-Ordinator who asked. Didn't explain why. Figures. So, you're coming with me to Aqshy."

"They could do that?"

"Well when you say, 'You swim against the streams of fate you imblicel,' And then threaten to recall your Knight-Engineers, you tend to get results."

* * *

Sigmaron never ceased to amaze Pyrrha. The vibrant city was a far cry from her home of Mistral. The slight dreariness brought by the wet climate was nowhere to be seen in the palace city. The people of the metropolis aided in this. They were so varied and colorful. Princes and poppers. Merchants and mercenaries. All of them in attire that spoke of their vibrant and colorful pasts.

Pyrrha had learned that this was the place to be if you had any dealings with the world of trade among the Free Cities. It was a strange name to give them, Pyrrha mused. They were bound to Azyr in some way; however, they were free to rule as their caretakers pleased, so long as they did not break their treaties with the God-King.

That last part continued to take Pyrrha aback. Part of her was still in disbelief about the gods. How real and close they were. In contrast to Remnant, where the twins were seemingly nowhere, nor in the Libraries of Azyr as well, the God-King was very real.

Pyrrha still stood in awe of him, part of her swelling in joy at his sight. The idea that he was, in a sense, her new father, still perplexed her, yet also made her feel grateful. She knew that, like every Stormcast, a piece of Sigmar's Godhood rested in her. That alone made her feel ready to face down whatever hell awaited her.

"It seems to be far busier today," remarked Aldrin as the two made their way through a sea of colorful mortals.

"Indeed." Pyrrha agreed, she brushed by a vibrant merchant, "Sorry!" She said in passing.

"So modest, even still," Aldrin said laughing, "I wonder, even in your days as a 'champion,' as you put it, were you still so humble?"

Pyrrha thought for a moment, "Yes. I believe so. Forgive me, my mind is still, uh, fuzzy."

Aldrin nodded, "Aye, the reforging has its price, I can testify to that."

Memory loss was a common side effect of being forged into a Stormcast. Pyrrha felt that as well. Her mind felt muddled when she thought about her life before Beacon. Her time at Shade was a blur entirely, bits of her childhood too. The worst part had been her family. She vaguely remembered her parents. Her father's face was particularly fuzzy to her. Though if memory served, he was largely absent in her life.

"Your search, you haven't spoken of it." Aldrin addressed Pyrrha with measured concern, "I take it things haven't progressed well then."

Pyrrha remained quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts, "It still perplexes me," Pyrrha's gaze turned skyward for a moment, before coming back to the ground, "Was my realm Mallus? It was the best answer I could find. At least, that is what I assume anyway. With what I can figure out."

Aldrin clapped Pyrrha on her pauldron, "The answers are not always easy to find, sister. Let it not worry you."

"It doesn't worry me," The knight-quester replied, "I just- I wonder if I will ever see any of them again. If I will ever see my friends."

"Jaune? You spoke of him before,"

A small smile made it's away across Pyrrha's lips, "There were more than Jaune. Ren and Nora. Ruby and..." It was then replaced with a frown, "I have trouble remembering them sometimes. Faces without names, names without faces. Jaune however. He was special."

"You loved him?" Aldrin asked cautiously.

Pyrrha became flush, "Perhaps. We were both young, and he was..." She felt herself become especially flustered.

Aldrin pressed Pyrrha, "Well? Out with it! Don't leave me in suspense."

Pyrrha whispered, "Adorable." She said chuckling, "Clumsy, yes. Perhaps not the brightest, but he was a good natured soul. So determined. Motivated. I'd never seen someone progress as quickly as he. And his cooking! God-King! I'd feared what would happen to my waistline if I hadn't been a huntress!"

The two shared a laugh, "He sounds like a good man... What happened between you two?"

"We danced once! He wore a dress, a dumb bet he made. And we kissed once. Before I..."

"Died?" Pyrrha fell silent, Aldrin recognized the conversation had steered itself to unsavory waters. It was time for a new course to be plotted, "Right. Perhaps we should focus on something more pressing: Word from Aqshy is not well."

Pyrrha refocused, "Right. What is the situation, exactly?"

Aldrin looked around. The crowd was thinning as the Stormcast made their way out of the main square, "It would seem the Enemy sees opportunity in our Host's weakness in the region of Hellen."

"The land of the City-States, yes?"

Aldrin nodded, "Aye. From what I could gather, they aim to take advantage of our dwindling numbers." He waited for passing mercenaries escorting a young princess to make their way further down the road before carrying on, "It would seem to only be supply raids, but they're often a precursor to something far worse, I believe."

"From what I've been taught, yes, that seems to be it." Pyrrha said, "I know it is my first time facing the armies of darkness, but I am prepared for it."

"No need to reassure me Pyrrha Truestrike," Aldrin raised a gauntleted hand, "Sigmar would not have reforged you had you not been ready."

* * *

 _Azyr, Hall of The Lord's Eternal, Fortress Monastery of the Tempest Lords_

Pyrrha entered the Hall of The Lord's Eternal with a cocktail of nerves and excitement swirling about her. What must have been hundreds of blue and white armored forms marched back and forth from various chambers leading to the countless theatres of war. The Hall itself served as the Tempest Lords' home in Azyr, the point which the Lord's Eternal marched to war.

She had never seen so many Stormcast in one place, and of one color of armor. Even during her training, it had been mixed in host. Here, however, it was a sea of blue sigmarite, washing across the marble halls of the fortress-monastery.

"Kingbolt! I hail you!" Pyrrha's attention was drawn to Aldarin, calling out to whom she assumed was a friend.

Stepping forward came a tall, slender, as slender as one could be in plate, Stormcast. His armor was battered and tarnished; ash, chips, and dents scattered across the sigmerite plate. Clearly, he had seen battle very recently. The Stromcast returned the greeting.

"Sexton! I hail you as well, brother!" Kingbolt removed his war-helm, revealing an elderly Stormcast. His hair was similar to salt and pepper in color. Clearly, he had evaded the forge for some time, at least that's what Pyrrha thought. That same grizzled visage turned to gaze at her. "Hail! I know your plate, knight-questor, yet I know not your name. What do they call you, sister?"

"Truestrike. Pyrrha Truestrike," Pyrrha, instinctively extended a hand to shake, Kingbolt seemed perplexed by the gesture.

He looked to Aldrin, awaiting context for Pyrrha's actions.

"Ah, lord-celestant, forgive her. From where she was from it's a 'hand-shake,' a form of greeting."

"Ah, strange. When I was a mortal, we bowed." Kingbolt replied.

Pyrrha became flustered, "Ah!" She bowed accordingly, "Forgive me, lord-celestant, I did not know-"

"Save your apologies knight-questor. Your blade is in desperate need." Kingbolt replied, his gaze returning to Aldrin, "I'm afraid I cannot speak, old friend, I am needed elsewhere."

"Take care then." Aldrin bowed, "Sigmar's grace upon you."

"To you as well, old friend." He turned to Pyrrha, "Pyrrha, was it?" The knight-questor nodded,"I wish you luck in your quests. Sigmar guide your blade."

He then left the two, marching off further into the Hall. Pyrrha felt that could have gone better. She feared that she might've offended him in some capacity. Aldrin punched her lightly in the shoulder, chuckling.

"Worry not. Kingbolt is... Prickly. He too fights in Aqshy, though I doubt his host will be able to support us." Aldrin reassured Pyrrha, "Come, our destination awaits."

Stepping into a large, sigmarite plate, etched with runes and prayers to Sigmar, a mass of Stormcast stood, awaiting their moment to leave. Upon taking her place on the platform, leaving Aldrin as he went to his spot, another Stormcast knocked her on the shoulder.

Judging by the hammer and shield, she was a liberator. The Stormcast's brown hair tied into a tight bun, her brown eyes looked at her with a minute amount of amusement. If the look she gave Pyrrha didn't tip her off, the grin did.

"You wish me to fix ya hair, sister? Boltin' down will mess it up, let me tell ya." She spoke with a thick, twangy drawl that Pyrrha could barely understand.

"Uh," Pyrrha had been tying her hair into a simple ponytail, keeping her war-helm secured to her belt, "Sure. I'm Pyrrha by the way, Pyrrha Nikos- I mean, Truestrike, sorry."

The woman smiled, "Wal, wal, reckon you're new forged ain't ya?" She stepped behind Pyrrha, already undoing her ponytail and began working it into a firm bun, "I'm Laura if ya 're wonderin'. Laura Ironstar."

"Nice to meet you, Laura," Pyrrha said with a twinge of pain as her fellow stormcast worked on her hair.

"Now ya see, when they send ya down there, to the mortal realms. It'll zap your hair good. Seen it happen to a good many brothas and sistas down 'ere, lemme tell ya." Satisfied, Laura tapped the war-helm on her belt, "Put it on, lightin' rolls over it like water off a duck's back."

"Thank you, Laura."

"Oh don't worry darlin', least I can do." She said smiling, "First time?"

"Yes, actually." Pyrrha said firmly.

"Wal. Be ready then. It's a bit of a shock the first time." Laura said clapping Pyrrha on the shoulder. "Oh! God-King's beard! What're those?"

Pyrrha looked to where the liberator pointed. It was the the spear sheathed on her back, shield as well. Quester could, after their training was complete, request custom made weapons. During her trials she used war blade and tower shield. However, further bouts in the Gladitorium had led to Pyrrha preferring spears. Her mortal weapons, given new life.

"Ah, my weapons! Miló and Akoúo̱ is what I named them."

"Mylow and what now?" Laura asked tilting her head.

Pyrrha chuckled, "They were two heroes I knew of. They inspired my fighting style."

"Ah," Laura said, "See I just had my ol' fryin' pan. A warhammer isn't far off as it turns out." The two shared a mighty laugh, "Lord-Ordinator is comin' best ya slip your helm on. See ya on the ground!"

Pyrrha then slipped on her warhelm. It was perhaps the one piece of armor she was not too keen on. It limited her senses by some margin, and as such annoyed ever slightly. Yet she stayed her urge to remove it since it was needed.

A bearded man stepped in front of the rows of stormcast, his bushy mustache connecting to even messier sideburns. His various instruments and vials clued Pyrrha to assume he was a lord-ordinator. He paused upon coming to Pyrrha, green eyes looking her over.

"Your name, questor, it is Pyrrha, correct?"

"Yes, sir. Pyrrha Truestrike."

"Aye yes. Good. My calculations are correct then."

"Um, what do you mean?"

He chuckled, "Never mind that. Less you know the better. Prepare to be in Aqshy at about, say..." The lord-ordinator looked to what appeared to be a pocket-watch, smirk remaining, "Now."

* * *

 _Aqshy, City-State of Laconia  
_

The night sky of Aqshy reminded Theodora of a cloak from her past life. No... A dress. The lord-celestant thought on it more, the memory fragmented, but the night sky that hung over her reminded her of that magenta dress. Perhaps it was the occasion as well.

The festivities that were at hand gave the Stormcast warm, familiar feelings. Dancing. Galant suiters. The taste of wine and bread. Theodora held those fleeting memories for as long as she could, they were precious bits of life that had long passed her.

"My lord, I still have my doubts about this." Retributor Kasi said, concerned.

Theodora looked to the Stormcast, her bodyguard, "You are here? I believe that'll be enough. And besides, I am not completely defenseless."

Theodora received odd advice from her old friend Remus. In the Senate, while speaking in private, the consul informed her of the nervousness of he observed from his peers. The lord-celestant's militant presence made them uneasy. His solution: show more humanity.

Not by just removing her helm, but by leaving her armor behind, and coming dressed more appropriately. Theodora, admittedly, was skeptical of the plan. It made her feel naked being out of her armor, despite the dressed gifted to her. It was a rush order, as the tailors were given only a few hours to make it. Nonetheless, it turned out alright, at least by Theodora's standards.

It was long, flowing dressing, yet not too puffy as to hide her muscular figure. It was blue and white, symbolic of her host. She bore the sigil of her office as a brooch, displaying her cleavage, which she discovered to be quite ample, as according to the tailor. Her arms were left bare, revealing healthy, firm arms, marred with scars; yet by the looks of the mortals, it did not seem to offend them.

She was not defenseless, however. Tied around her waist was a sturdy belt made of dracoth leather, which held a warblade at her hip. Theodora hoped it would not be needed. Still, her ever loyal bodyguard, Kasi Stormshield, insisted on accompanying her. It amused the lord-celestant, at first. It did hamper her at times, the presence of a retributor was rarely a comforting sight.

The festival was a city-wide event; many celebrations were in full swing at the same time. Theodora made an appearance at one of the more exclusive parties . The Aquila Gardens were quite lovely in the magenta night. Wide avenues, intersections marked by tall columns, were decorated for the festivities. Ribbons and linens wrapped around them and connected them, creating a colorful web throughout the gardens. Beds of flowers and bushes from across all of the realms were on display.

She spied the purple, almost bruise-colored Morn Flowers earlier. They were a rarity in Shyish as it was, to be grown here was remarkable. Other exotic plants grew alongside them: Tiger Flowers from Ghur, Evergreen Roses from Ghyran. The list went on and on. Theodora had only read of most of these flowers. It was the soil of the region that allowed for such plants to flourish. Rich with nutrients, provided you had the skill, quite literally anything could be grown in the Hellenic Plateau.

It wasn't just the gardens that drew the upper class of the city-state to it. The Aquila Gardens were known more for their amphitheater. It rested at the far end of the gardens, right as it met the cliff that looked into the rest of the city of Laconia. Over the eastern edge, it was possible to see the whole of the city-state; many balconies had been carved out of the side of the cliff face, so lovers and artists could gaze over the city in times such as these.

"Lord-Celestant?" Theodora turned to see a perplexed, yet an in awe Maximilian. His robes were simple and flowing, allowing for the, relatively, cool night's breeze to flow through them. They were purple and red in color, his party's colors. The senator bowed from the waist before the Stromcast, "I almost didn't recognize you without your plate. You look wonderful. Karletta tailored that dress, didn't she? I know her handiwork anywhere."

Similar praise had been given to the Stromcast throughout the evening. It had grown agitating now. Every man seemed to forget his wife at his side and compliment Theodora and her 'forged' body. That or the bachelors would make it a point to greet her and kiss her hand out of respect.

Despite the annoyance, Theodora acknowledged that it did prove it's advantages. While still wary of her, most of the senators did at least hear her out. She also found it easier to articulate with her hands without waving about menacing fingers of sigmarite.

"Greetings Maximilian. Your praise is well received," She said putting on a facade of a smile, "The evening is progressing well, though I would be a poor judge. It's been sometime since I've attended an event like this."

"You Stormcast don't have holidays?" The senator questioned taking a sip out of the goblet of wine in hand.

"Sometimes. It truly depends upon the host..." Theodora's attention was drawn elsewhere. Above the party grounds, upon one of the pillars stood a robed figure. The moonlight obscured the form, but Theodora knew who it was. The figure then bounded off the pillar, landing without even a thud, disappearing into the flower beds, "... Blast it all."

"Beg your pardon?" Maximilian was quite perturbed about Theodora seemingly losing interest in him in the middle of a conversation.

"Forgive me, friend," Theodora waved a hand apologetically, "We do, they're... different from host to host. We Tempest Lords do celebrate New Year's Day with Azyrian Wine and sweets. While else the Astral Templars celebrate Winter's Night: Three days of drinking, carousing and feasting... _then_ the holiday comes." Theodora said with a chuckle, though the attempt at humor seemed to be lost on the mortal.

Maximilian nodded, fascinated, yet still somewhat put off by Theodora's behavior, "Very well. I won't keep you."

The lord-celestant wasted no time as she marched through the gardens. She hid her now dower expression by holding her chin high and maneuvering through the crowd with newfound grace. She had forgotten how heavy the plate she wore was sometimes. Little things like turning sideways and stepping around a mortal were now far more straightforward and resulted in less near bone-crushing incidents. The Stormcast found the column the figure had dropped from, which was on a pathway that led directly to a balcony. White currents obscured the other side. For the privacy, of course.

She turned to her bodyguard, who had been making very little of an effort to minimize her presence. "Wait here, Kassi. Hopefully, this doesn't take too long."

"Of course, my lord."

The retributor took a position in front of the balcony, she planted the aft of her glavie on the cobbles, making it quite evident to any passerby to not enter the terrace. Sighing to herself, Theodora drew back the currents and entered.

"Enjoying yourself Theodora?" A low, focused, feminine voice cut through the sounds of festival and celebration, "Spend enough time with these mortals and you might grow old and fat with them."

The speaker was a Stormcast, one Theodora knew well, respected even, but forgot how abrasive they could be. Her armor was mostly concealed by a long, tattered and dirtied white robe. The hood hid her war-helm, which on a closer inspection belonged to a knight-zephyros. Assassins, thieves, brigands whom by some weird twist of fate, or some miracle, found redemption and their souls were deemed worthy to serve in Sigmar's Storm Eternal.

Her colors were not of Theodora's host, however, from what she could see. The knight-zephyros' armor had been painted with a dull, grey, her right armor painted blood red, white runes and prayers ran all the up to the pauldron. Her war-helm was painted red but the eyes, which held marks of white that ran like tears from her eyes.

"Storm Guard." In truth, Theodora did not know the name of her sister. She had never spoken it, so she called her by her host. The Stormguard were Stormcast made in mourning. Heroes and warriors who in their last moments had failed. Defeated and left to watch their kingdoms burn, their families were slain, their lives ruined.

It was that guilt that manifested into a wanting to atone. To seek redemption for their failures. And Sigmar would take those mournful souls that he measured worthy, and hammer forth the Storm Guard.

Their reliance was famed across the Mortal Realms, shrugging off the most grievous wounds, that should have sent even the hardiest of Stormcast to the Anvil. Bards sing of lord-relictors regularly having to force many of the host's brothers and sisters to rest and heal, even by restraining them. Their battle cry put it best: 'In life, shame. In death, atonement. In the Storm, war. On the Anvil, peace.'

"Enjoying the evening? Surely the smells, fireworks, wine, and bread bring you some semblance of joy."

The stormcast did not answer, she merely got to the point, "A soulblight I've been keeping my eyes upon is in a sudden rush to leave. Tonight. Something horrible is going to happen."

Theodora became annoyed, "What, you wish my permission? I am not your lord; you can go off and purge such deathspawn whenever you wish."

"That isn't the point. I'll allow the murmurs to handle the vampire." The knight-zephyros stepped towards the balcony, looking over the city, "Something's coming. Chaos in the hinterlands, Soulblight in the city. Sigmar preserves us. This city is a pit snake, slithering and writhing beneath our feet."

"Do you look upon all of the cities of mortals with such contempt?" Theodora asked

"Only ones that battle us when we are but trying to push back the shadows of corruption." The Storm Guard went on, "Idiots. Do they not see we're the Storm Eternal? The rain to wash the realms clean of such filth? They deny Heaven its due."

"Seems they have been doing fine to me," Theodora countered, "How long have they held against the Enemy? A Millennium or so?"

"Still..." The knight-zephyros kept her gaze over the city, "Their non-compliance is problematic. It is why I believe your little act is foolish, and why I am here to ensure you don't go off and get yourself reforged."

"Not you too..." Theodora pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, "Listen, I can handle myself. And I have a retributor who I am certain would follow me into the privy if I didn't tell her to heel."

"You're too trusting of mortals. Common among you Tempest Lords. They're weak. Break easy. Turn easy. Fail easy."

"And yet we're drawn from them, all the same. Is this debate going to go anywhere? Always the same with you, Storm Guard."

She fell silent before turning back around, "Forgive me. I grow... frustrated at times with the current situation. It would be far easier to deal with such threats if I were allowed to lead my Hunters through the city. I must contend with..." she let out a sigh, " _Mummers_."

"Is that why you seem vexed? Do aelves frustrate you so much?"

"Perhaps."

Fireworks were going off, their thunderous end bringing red and white sparkles to the magenta night sky. "I have matters to attend to. Securing Laconia's aid will allow us to worry not about the refugees, and even bring troops to aid in securing the frontier, Sigmar willing. I shall be off if there is nothing else."

"No. Sigmar give you pardon and peace sister." The knight-zephyros then bolted over the balcony. Theodora marched over, looking over the edge, only to see nothing. Not even the hint of her cloak.

The lord-celestan sighed. "Always on the move."


End file.
